


Lay Me Down

by rednuht



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Has Issues, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Sleepy Cuddles, Smutty, Song references, Wing Kink, angst like woah, anyway, but also very angsty, everyone has fucking issues, inner crisis, just everything will happen eventually, smutty as fuck, tags will be added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednuht/pseuds/rednuht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm sorry," he whispered to the air, as if apologizing to empty space could fix anything. Dean doesn't have anyone to turn to, either. "Okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry for never being there for you. I'm sorry for never taking your feelings into account. I'm sorry for never looking out for you-</p><p>I'm sorry for loving you as much as I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But It's Better If You Do

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes I am writer and things will get sad and angsty buT THEY'LL FUCK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck I don't even know I hope you brought your tissues since there's both porn and feels

There was... a longing in Dean's chest. A deep longing that's been there for so long that Dean can't remember a time where he didn't feel that ache, that need, that desire that he feels now. He's not even sure if it started seven years ago or four years ago or last week anymore, because now it's getting so strong that he could swear he felt physical pain around him. Dean's fingers twitched when he was around him, all he wished was to touch him. He ached for any kind of physical contact at all, yearned for a brush of hands, prayed for a knock of elbows or shoulders. All he wished was to kiss him, to hug him, to take his pain away and make him smile, and at the same time, he wanted to ravish him, wanted to destroy his innocence and purity and order, and Dean couldn't make that feeling go away.

Long car drives are the worst. Dean sitting up front with his little brother while the object of his affection gazes contentedly out the window behind them, his sparkling blue eyes reflecting the same shade of blue in the sky above, looking absolutely irresistible with his dark sex-hair and his chapped pink lips and his unmarked neck that just begged for a hickey, his stubbly jaw that Dean wished he could feel on the inside of his thighs-

"Fuck," Dean said aloud, his voice low with desire already. The mental images that appeared in his mind at the thought turned Dean on more than he thought they should. He felt a weak stab of arousal in his gut and willed it to go away, then closed his eyes again, and tried to get back to sleep. It wouldn't work now, Dean knew it wouldn't work, but he needed the confirmation that he won't be able to just fall back asleep. He kept his eyes closed, and tried to stop thinking about- yeah. Dean sighed quietly, biting his lip.

What really sucks is when Sam isn't with them, and he sits up front with Dean. His hand usually rests innocently on his knee, and Dean would do anything to have that hand be his, he would do anything just to touch him. To slide his hand to the inside of his thigh, to hear his breath hitch and to watch him bite his lip, to feel the electricity and power that resides under his skin. His eyes would flutter closed and his brow would furrow as Dean would run his hand along his sensitive skin.

Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and relaxed further in the bed, feeling a familiar warmth stab and pool in his groin as he straightened and turned onto his back. There was no ignoring this now, and Dean knew this fantasy wasn't to be willed away. It was late- er, early-, and if he wanted to get back to sleep, this was required. At least, that's what he told himself. Dean slipped a hand down to rest on his stomach, using the other hand to push away his blanket.

Dean would drag the side of his hand against the place between his thigh and groin, and he would lick his lips at the sound the other would would let out. "Please," he would groan, and Dean's breath would hitch at his low, gravelly tone darkened with arousal. He would pause before placing his hand over the growing hardness in the other's pants. A sharp intake of breath, a jerk of the hips, a high-pitched whine; he would have to keep his eyes forward and focus on the road, but his noises- oh, the delicious little noises he would make- tiny gasps and whimpers-

"Fuck," Dean repeated, this time with a little more force as the warmth in his gut wasn't just a warmth but a deep heat that demanded to be sated, his dick almost fully hard in his pants. He let his hand drift all the way down to his thigh, passing under his waistband, rubbing circles with his fingers into the sensitive skin on the inside. Dean carefully avoided the bulge in his sweatpants for now, his breath already shuddering and skin already heating up, intending to drag this out for a while. "Cas," He groaned, removing his other hand from the sheets and instead using it to lift his shirt up to his chest. The only thing on his mind were those blue eyes, those chapped lips, and how they would look when Dean got his hands on him. Pupils blown to the width of his bright irises, lips wet and bitten and open in a loud moan-

Dean whimpered at the thought, his hand leaving his thigh to pull his pants down to where he could easily kick them off the bed. Well, there goes 'dragging it out', Dean thought, his dick fully hard in his underwear and throbbing against the thin fabric.

Dean would slip his hand into Cas' underwear, and they both would groan, Cas' chapped, pink lips open in a lazy O as Dean wrapped his fingers around the shaft. The silky smooth skin would be velvet over steel, his cock already hard in his hand, the weight on his hand causing Dean's arousal to flare. His own hardness would be pressing incessantly against the inside of his underwear and jeans, and his mind would go fuzzy with the haze of desire. Dean would pump his hand up and down Cas' shaft, using his thumb to sweep across the smooth, sensitive skin of the head.

Dean could only imagine the sounds Cas would make: high-pitched whines and frequent panting, a series of 'nh, nh's that faded into wordless closed-mouth noises. He could only imagine how Cas would look in the throws of pleasure, head canted back exposing his unmarked neck, a bead of sweat rolling over his adam's apple, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed, mouth wide open and lips red and bitten and letting out short, rapid whimpers and grunts and moans.

Dean's teeth sank further into his lip as he ran his fingers along his cock that was barely concealed by the thin fabric of his underwear. The delicious mix of pain and pleasure made him throb with need and let out a low, drawn-out groan. His breath was fast and choppy, his heartbeat was accelerated, his fingers shook, his body trembled, and his skin was hot and damp with sweat. Pleasure cascaded through his body, dulling his senses and heating his flesh. Dean curled his fingers as much as he could over the bulge in his underwear and groaned lightly, pumping his hand over the shaft.

By now, Dean would've pulled over to the side of the road. He would look over at Cas, and his breath would hitch at the sight. They would go into the back seat, and Cas would shove him down and capture his lips in his own. The angel would zap off their clothes, impatience clear in his features, and immediately start biting and sucking at his neck, leaving dark indents and marks on his skin. "What should I do with you?" he would ask quietly, in that deep voice of his that tilted up at the end of his question and sounded even more fucked and rough than usual. His breath would ghost along Dean's skin and he would shiver, his desire flaring and heart racing already.

"Oh, I know," Cas would growl, leaning over him, his arms braced on the seat on either side of his head. "I'll ride your thick cock until you come." Dean would whimper and beg at the change in dominance, shock and arousal mixing in his mind when Cas' innocence faded and he whispered filth into his ear. Cas would smile cruelly down at him. "You look so pretty when you beg." The angel would sink slowly down onto his dick, and Dean would cry out as he felt Cas twitch and purposely tighten around him, rocking his hips ruthlessly and lifting and dropping his body effortlessly on Dean's cock.

"Fuckin' mojo."

He pushed his underwear down to his knees half-heartedly, and kicked the garment off the side of the bed, landing somewhere near his pants. Dean's hand sped up on his cock, and he turned his head to the side, muffling his loud groans and whimpers in the pillow, small desperate noises escaping his parted lips. Pleasure pulsed through his veins, and he felt like his every nerve was set on fire, every touch oversensitized, every twist of his wrist electrifying.

Cas' name fell from Dean's lips like a prayer, and since the only other noises in his quiet room were his muffled panting and the occasional sound of skin on skin, the single syllable he groaned out could be heard loud and clear. Dean didn't realize this at the time, because he was more focused on what noises Cas would make as he came and what Dean's name would sound like being groaned out of the angel's chapped lips than his current surroundings.

Cas would move his body up and down on Dean's cock, moaning and panting and cursing, his thighs trembling and hands gripping tight at Dean's sides. Dean would reach forward, wrap his fingers around Cas' length and jerk him off, the combined sensations of Dean's dick up his ass and Dean's hand around him would have Cas throwing his head back as he came, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open in a soundless cry, pleasure crashing through his shuddering and spasming body, torso jerking forwards and back, hips bucking hard and fast.

Dean's eyes snapped open, the mental image of Cas' cheeks stained pink and the too-real sensation of his fingers digging into his sides and the little rushed pants and high-pitched cries that would surely fall from his lips was too much, and had Dean coming all over himself, his dick twitching out stream after stream of come, his body jerking and spasming and pleasure shaking his bones and tightening his muscles. His hips bucked hard once, twice, thrice, and the groan that tore its way out of his throat was so loud Sam probably could've heard it, had he been walking by.

Dean lay in his bed, sweaty and exhausted and uncomfortable, but ultimately sated and content. His loud panting and gasping were the only noises in the room, and he waited to somewhat catch his breath before lifting his upper body to his elbows and reaching inside the bedside drawer for a few tissues. They took care of the mess, and Dean threw them off the side of the bed before collapsing back down and flexing his hand a few times.

"Damn," Dean whispered to the now-empty room, feeling that ache return to his chest. He still wanted Cas, still needed Cas, and nothing could ever change that. No matter how many impossible fantasies he made up, he could never have him. Dean stared at the ceiling, knowing if he fell asleep he would wake up aching and needy again, so he decided to just stay awake for a while and let it all come back to him so he didn't have to wake up more miserable than he was when he went to sleep.

Maybe Sam will have a case for them tomorrow, something to get Dean's mind off of things. That would be nice, to have a distraction, Dean thought, picking absently at a string in the sheets. He spent too much time pining and wishing for something he couldn't have, no matter how close he was to getting it. He and Cas spent a lot of time together, either talking in the kitchen or idling about the bunker or watching a movie together or sitting in the storage area, and every single second Dean is with the angel, he wants him. No, he needs him.

"Damn it," Dean said again, his voice broken and high and weak, his hand fisted in the sheets not unlike it had been just moments before. They've been together for years now, since Cas raised him bloody and broken from the depths of Hell and saved him from being literally torn to shreds for the umpteenth time. The scar on his shoulder was long gone, but he could still feel the remnants of Cas' grace there, and he still hasn't been able to meet his hand to the empty plane of skin.

Dean's eyes felt dry and irritated, he noticed as he rubbed the side of his hand into one, and he didn't stop until he felt tears leaking from under his hand. He clenched his teeth, breathing heavily through them as if that could help with this kind of pain. It was too much, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't blink away the images of Cas' blood-splattered coat curled in his arms, couldn't unstick the thought of him letting go of his hand, and couldn't breathe away the sorrow he didn't feel when he drove that blade into the ground inches away from Cas' face.

He got up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and running his fingers through his hair, his other eye starting to dampen the more he let his thoughts run. Dean put his discarded sweatpants back on and leaned against the wall for a few seconds before walking out of his room. The emergency lights weakly illuminated the halls with red light, and Dean didn't know what his destination was, but soon found himself at the bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror, gripping the sides of the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

 _He doesn't want me_ , Dean thought, _he deserves so much better than me_. His eyes were red and stained, his cheek and jaw damp with smeared tears and fresh ones slowly leaking down. I'm so weak. How could anyone ever stand to be around me? All Dean could hear was screaming, and glass being smashed, and suddenly he was on the floor and his hand hurt, his throat hurt, and he couldn't see straight, there were bits of smashed glass in his knuckles and the ground below him grew steadily with blood and tears and the voice grew hoarse and silent-

"Dean?" Cas' voice rang in Dean's ears, and he unclenched his fist, pain shooting through his arm, turning so his back was against the wall, dropping one hand to support himself and holding the other close to his chest. "Dean!" Cas was all he could see now, dark unruly curls in even more disarray than usual, bright blue eyes wide and alert with fear and concern. The angel was crouched in front of him, ignoring the glass that was surely dug into the bottom of his feet, one hand resting on his jaw and the other gripping his shoulder. Dean reached up slowly, laying his free hand over the one on his shoulder.

"Like this," he said quietly, moving Cas' hand just slightly so it fit perfectly over where his scar used to be. "I miss it." Dean gave Cas a little smile, and the angel sighed, bringing him close, carefully avoiding his hand. They stayed like that for a while until Cas' concern eventually forced him to move away and inspect his hand, using his grace to remove every spec of glass and heal every scrape and cut from it.

"Thanks," Dean tried to say, but all he could manage was a weak "Th-" before a searing, white-hot pain surged through him, from his shoulder to the rest of his body. He couldn't even react, couldn't cry out or swing a fist or curl into himself. But the pain was gone as soon as it started, and Dean found himself staring into Cas' eyes once again, this time his vision dark and cloudy. No, everything except for Cas was-

"Dean, your shoulder, I don't-" Cas trailed off, gesturing at the suspiciously shaped blood stain exactly over where his scar used to be. A thrill went through him, but he kept an empty expression, even trying at concern. Dean pulled up the sleeve, not unlike he had done almost seven years ago, to reveal an angry-red hand print that rose above his skin and burned harshly, oozing blood that trickled down his arm in crimson droplets. This time, he couldn't contain himself, and an almost insane laugh tore its way out of Dean's throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up, you idiot. I don't think you get how much I've missed that scar," he smiled, and rotated his shoulder, sighing happily when the wound protested painfully. There, this was the distraction he needed. From Cas. From everything. "Haven't felt anything there for years, kind of a relief." Cas smiled back at him, leaning forward to fall into his arms and bury his face in Dean's shirt, the soft and worn material caressing his cheeks and jaw. "What the hell will Sam say?"

Cas laughed, lifting his head, but the humor slowly drained from his face as he looked up. He stared into his hunter's eyes, mouth parting slightly, Dean could feel his angel's breath ghosting against his lips, and his eyes were trained on Cas' own, mouth suddenly going dry. They were frozen in time, inches away from each other, aching to brush their mouths together just once, calculating the positives and negatives if they just did what they both wanted, needed-

Cas decided for them both, surging forward once again to take Dean's lips in his own, sliding his arms around his waist, sliding into his lap and kissing him harder. There was no gentleness, no taking it slow, and Cas loved every second of it, Dean's lips were addicting and wet and so silky smooth, he could get lost in them. They spent what seemed like hours just kissing, pushing, pulling, groaning.

They eventually pulled apart, panting hard against each other, and they both immediately regretted it, craving each other's mouths for years and finally getting what they want for only a few seconds was torture. Dean leaned forward and kissed him again slowly and thoroughly, lips sliding against lips and hands caressing cheeks and jaws. They paused in their ministrations, breathing hard and staring wide-eyed at each other.

"Goodnight," Dean finally whispered against Cas' mouth, pressing one, two, three more times to his lips, each time longer than the last, before pausing, his breath ghosting along his mouth and lips tingling. He couldn't look into Cas' eyes, instead stared at his lips and tried to stop his thoughts before the longing returned. His anxiety came back and shoved out any haze of arousal that was ever there in the first place, and Dean pulled away slowly and walked back to his room, leaving Cas alone in the bathroom with blood on his clothes and hands and feet, looking as stunned and dazed as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, porn
> 
> enjoy :)


	2. I Write Sins Not Tragedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's difficult to tell someone you love them when in your mind, love is forbidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't even look at me
> 
> short chapter :/

Cas was already awake when Dean walked in to the kitchen that morning, yawning from where he sat by the table and glanced at Dean. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and if Cas wouldn't mention last night, Dean wouldn't either. He watched Cas attentively as he stretched, arms high above his head and muscles taut under his skin, an aura of power seeming to rise from behind him. Dean blinked, staring just past Cas' shoulders, trying to convince himself that he was tired, and just wasn't seeing quite right. But no matter how hard Dean tried to think it wasn't there, the faint smoky arcs rising high above Cas' head and shoulders just wouldn't disappear from his mind, and the déjà vu he experienced was no less worrying, never mind how his shoulder burned and roiled when their eyes met.

The illusion flickered in and out of his sight, like a broken record playing in his mind, until the angel dropped his arms to his sides and looked at Dean again, the dark smoke thickening and shuddering as it relaxed, not unlike his arms did a second ago. The burn seemed to strengthen with the visibility of Cas' wings, but he decided to think about whatever the hell that meant later. Dean couldn't help but gaze at them, and it seemed like the more he stared, the more they came into view. The smoke darkened more and lightened in places and even changed color, instead of swirling listlessy behind Cas it now had some shape and form, the shapes in particular being a set of massive black wings that looked as if they were made of smoke and were streaked with blue and green and dotted with an infinite amount of tiny white pinpricks that shone brighter than any stars he's ever seen.

They reminded Dean of a time where he went up to Minnesota with Sam for a case quite a few years back. Since they were up there, after they solved the case, they both decided to sit by Lake Superior and get drunk, but neither of them planned on staying so late. It was around sundown when they simply sat and watched the sky, occassionally exchanging bad jokes and offending each other. The sky had just gone black when multitudes of white specs across it were dulled out by brilliant waves of blue and green that swept across the dark expanse and lit up the sky incredibly, twisting and mixing with each other as the night went on.

Both Sam and Dean were silent then, and even though he would never admit it, Dean took around thirty pictures. That was his happy place for a while, whenever things got bad, he just picked out one of the many photos he had printed from his bedside drawer and remembered how light he felt, like nothing mattered anymore, and nothing could ever ruin that moment. He remembered Sam's lazy grin and remembered returning it, he remembered gazing up at the sky for hours and hours until the sun rose again, unable to look away, even after the Northern Lights faded into the dark and the stars shone brilliantly in their place. Sam drove them home that morning, Dean sleeping soundly next to him in the passenger's seat.

Dean came back to his senses in a matter of seconds to Cas' concerned gaze and a low buzz that irritated his shoulder. His wings were even more defined now, smoky feathers spreading and tightening in time with Cas' breathing, each individual varying in color and size. The smaller feathers near the top of the arc of his wings were solid black and dotted occasionally with white spots, the medium-sized ones farther down were streaked lightly across multiple feathers with blue or green that melted perfectly with the black. Those ones had more white dots than the smaller, and Dean was mesmirized with them already when Cas subconsciously flared his wings, exposing the feathers closer to his back. Dean's eyes widened at the soft waves of blue that twined with hard lines of black and long vines of green, even more so at the very large feathers closer to the bottom of his wings that were tipped in solid black and painted with soft swirls of blue, the individual veins colored deep green and speckled with what seemed like millions of bright white spots. They easily could've been four feet long, each, or longer.

"Dean, what are you looking at?" Cas' voice caught his attention, and Dean looked up into his eyes, blinking and clearing his throat, shoulder flaring up again. His wings were long, easily reaching halfway across the room on either side, and their tips dragged against the ground as they moved to snake around his ankles. Cas didn't seem to notice, and Dean couldn't help but stare at the liquid color as it flowed into itself and mixed with others, as if it wasn't on a pair of wings at all. He tried to think of an excuse, but quickly failed, instead offering a weak shrug and a grin that didn't even feel real. Now that he thought of it, he could've sworn he saw a dark smoke behind Cas last night-

What even happened last night? Dean felt a sharp pang from his shoulder and swallowed, remembering how Cas' eyes gleamed in fear and the pain in his hand and the white light he saw and the jarring pain from the mark on his shoulder. Most importantly, how good it felt to finally kiss him. He clenched his jaw, trying not to remember how Cas' tongue felt and tasted, wet and hot and velvety smooth, and how his lips felt crashed against Dean's own.

"I'm tired," Dean said, more to reassure himself than to answer him, tearing his eyes away from Cas' own and watching as Cas' wings froze and untangled themselves from his calves, then drooped slightly below his shoulders. Cas knew Dean was lying, but didn't call him out on it. He walked past him to the coffee machine, looking away from the swirling colors and instead indulging in caffeine, gritting his teeth when the handprint throbbed painfully. When he turned back around, the wings were still there, somehow so real and vivid but at the same time so misty they could be forged from smoke. They confused Dean indefinitely but awed him at the same time, and he had a new respect for Cas' back and shoulder muscles.

What was even more mesmerizing was how the streaks of color seemed to drift through Cas' feathers- and wasn't that a curious phrase- like the clouds drifted over the sky and dissolved into the air. Dean was watching a particular blue streak slowly but surely darkening and curling off into smaller, fainter branches out of the corner of his eye as he lifted his coffee mug to his mouth.

But he never drank any, because watching the calming blue drift across Cas' wings was making him drowsy and it wasn't like he was doing anything today anyway, so he made the decision to sleep in. "You know what, we ain't doing anythin' today anyway. 'm goin' back to bed. Wanna join me?" Dean almost screamed at himself for that last bit. His shoulder instantly stopped hurting, instead replaced with a pleasant relaxing feeling through the surrounding muscles. Dean was a little freaked out by this, since his old handprint didn't do anything but look cool, much less ache.

He meant to just keep his thoughts in his mind, just go to bed and pine in silence for a half hour before falling asleep and likely dreaming about calming blue waves and electric green lights and dark night skies and scattered white stars and bitten pink lips and the wet noise his mouth made when their lips parted and shattered glass and screaming and white hot shooting pain-

But now Cas was looking hopeful and staring at him and ohGodDeandidn'tmeanforthistohappen-

"I'd love to. I mean, yeah, sure," Cas stumbled, and his awkwardness quelled Dean's nerves, or maybe his anxiety was so strong at that moment that everything turned to white noise and anything strange could be okay. Either way, Dean felt marginally better about... things, and managed to keep his buzzing(screaming) anxiety to a minimum as he walked with Cas side-by-side down the halls. The handprint started to itch and tremble, and Dean wasn't about to question it, since he felt exactly the same way.

Uncomfortable, angry, scared- a winning combo, if you ask him.

He swore he could feel Cas' wing curl around him as they navigated to Dean's room and entered soundlessly, but there was no affection to the gesture. It was regretful, almost as Cas never wanted to do it in the first place.

Probably because Cas never wanted to kiss you in the first place, his mind helpfully added.

 

When Dean woke up again that afternoon, it took him about two seconds to realize that he wasn't alone. Instead of reaching for the gun that he knew would be under his pillow, he opened his eyes blearily and gazed at the closed ones across from him. Cas' hair was even more messy than usual, and Dean reached to run his fingers through the dark curls without thinking. Thank fuck he was still sleep-hazy, otherwise his anxiety would be actually having a simultanious stroke, heart attack, and seizure. His arm was trapped under a pillow- and Cas' head- so all he really could do was bend it for his fingertips to brush through his surprisingly soft hair.

Their legs were tangled in the sheets and Dean's other arm was wrapped around Cas' body- another winning combo for him to freak out about later-, hand resting right below his shoulderblades. This is where his wings are, the less worrisome/angry/self-hating part of Dean thought, as he turned his head up slightly, trying to see over Cas' side. He didn't have to, Dean quickly realized, watching the familiar blue, black, and green smoke drift from behind Cas in a long, graceful arc to end behind himself. The more he stared, the more he saw, the smoke taking form of individual feathers that melted and came together again like vapor, water, and ice.

Dean tore his gaze away from it- feeling a dull, throbbing pain gather sluggishly in his shoulder-, looking over at the other wing that rested against the bed, spread out languidly and likely spilling off the edge and brushing the ground. He sighed, and tried to silence his buzzing mind, filled with questions and problems that he didn't even know where to begin trying to solve. Luckily, he didn't have to attempt at figuring any of them out, since Cas' arm had slipped from his side and was now grabbing at his bicep, probably a sign he was awake.

His eyes met Cas' own, confusion and sleepiness clear in both pairs. "Get back down here," Cas growled after a second, pulling Dean back down with a surprising force. He snuggled into Dean's chest, letting go of his arm and wrapping his own around Dean's waist. Dean hoped he had forgotten about the night before, or at least didn't mention or act upon it, since his mind was still sleepy and wasn't about to freak out about anything just yet.

With the sudden movement came an even more sudden realization- Dean was harder than a rock, and Cas wasn't exactly helping. His low, sleep-rough voice was even more insane than usual, sounding positively fucked, and Dean wasn't sure how long he could hold out for. His desperate need to get up and the hell out of there overrided his desire to just give in and cuddle Cas, and now he could tell that since- clearly- one part of him had woken up, his mind would follow soon, and he didn't want to be near Cas for that part.

"Cas, I gotta go shower. I know y' don't need to, I'll be right back." The angel listened to Dean's drawl, focusing more on how nice his sleep voice sounded around his name than what was actually happening- and hopefully what had happened- Dean physicaly shook his head before he had the opportunity to freak out.

When Dean tried to pull away again, he was surprised to see Cas' wing curling around his body, and was even more surprised to feel his handprint go cold.

"Fine. Don't be long, your bed will get cold," He said softly, and Dean blinked at his choice of words as Cas turned onto his back with his eyes closed and fingertips brushing through his hair, wings spread languidly across the bed and taking up the available space. Dean stood up slowly, thanking every holy being to ever exist that he made the descision to wear breifs instead of boxers and that his shoulder wasn't bearing a lick of pain and that his mind hadn't woken up just yet.

 

Dean heard Cas' breath hitch as he watched him walk in wearing nothing but a towel hung loosely over his hips. His heart seemed to beat just a small amount faster, but he willed himself to calm down before he did anything stupid. He could almost feel Cas' eyes dart to Dean's shoulder, where the fresh, bright red wound rose from his skin and made him hiss when he nudged it against the door frame, looking so alike his old scar that even Dean made a double-take as he walked past the mirror by the showers.

Cas healed the other one, six years ago. He gritted his teeth. How could he have just healed it? He still hasn't gotten over that, and feeling the risen flesh move as he stretched was hitting him a little too close to home. It looked just like the old one, same place, same size, same dimensions, even the amount the wound rose off his skin was the same. It came from Cas, obviously, but Dean was still marginally upset about the first one.

Did he not understand how much that mark meant to him?

 _He's an **angel,** he's **Cas.** Of course he didn't know, stop being irrational,_ the logical side of Dean's brain added.  
  
Dean felt the whisper of a touch at his shoulder, and the white hot pain that he felt last night stabbed at him- even if with less intensity. _Cas had been leaning over Dean, his hand placed almost directly over the place where his scar used to be, and he knew Cas felt the remnants of his grace in Dean's body-_

_"Like this," Dean moved his hand just slightly, and Cas almost missed him say, "I miss it." A wave of emotion went through him at that moment, happiness at Dean's approval, but also grave distress and regret for healing it in the beginning and causing Dean to miss it, love and a need to make things right and give his scar back, and so much affection and guilt that he just had to do it, and yet, it wasn't even intentional._

He healed him by replacing his old scar- old memories of them, of how they both used to be, of how close- or how not- they were then- with a new scar- fresh and bright and new again, exactly the same but made in somewhat better times, better places, with better memories and forged with emotion and devotion and the powerful bond between them that couldn't be severed by even the most powerful being to ever exist.

Cas healed him.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he paused to take a few deep breaths before he focused on the task at hand. Hands shaking slightly, he slipped on a pair of boxers, a shirt, and his favorite charcoal-colored sweatpants. Dean felt Cas' eyes on him, and he couldn't stop thinking for the life of him, his throat starting to constrict and breathing starting to quicken-

"I have to go," Dean muttered, his voice shaky and breaking, as he got up and practically ran out the door, then full-on sprinting through the halls with blurry vision and thoughts that grabbed hold of any logical part of his mind and pulled tight, his feet pounding against the ground and head pounding with throbbing pain. He barely heard Cas call his name, it sounded like he was shouting from far, far away or from behind a thick wall, he barely heard the concern in his voice before he was running through the bunker with one destination and one destination only:

Away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh, don't kill me


	3. Drowned Coherency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cas, I think I'm in love with you."

Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, and his gaze shifted from the pair of neatly folded jeans in the passenger's seat to the wall in front of him. Just before Dean ran out on Cas- add that to the list of things to freak out about in three seconds- he grabbed a pair of jeans since he instinctively knew what he was going to do and where he was going to go.

Get smashed, and at a bar.

He also knew that there was no way in hell anyone would find him at a bar in a loose band shirt and sweatpants.

Dean almost smiled at the thought of drowning his coherency in a shot glass, and sighed as he turned on the radio. It wasn't oldies and it sure as hell wasn't rock, so Dean automatically knew that Sam had changed the fucking station.

"Bitch," Dean muttered, but he didn't make any move to change the station. The high, fast voice of a young female singer slowly died out as Dean started his Impala and drove out of the garage and on to the street, heading towards the nearest bar. The drum beat slowed and silenced, the guitar faded, and all the other instrumentals ceased, and the singer sang her final words before the song switched.

Dean wasn't paying attention to the song that played next, his mind registering a few piano chords and a man's voice that was particularly soft and feminine. It was familiar, and Dean knew most of the lyrics to the song just by hearing it so often. It was a bit of an older song, and Dean was minutely surprised that it came up on 'latest hits'.

He didn't hate the song, and Dean would never admit it, but he liked singing along to it. He never took in the meaning of the lyrics, since sad and somber meanings usually weren't what he needed. As Dean drove, he hummed along to the tune, feeling his stress lessen and his fear start to recede.

"Your touch, your skin, where do I begin?" Dean sang slowly, his voice rough with misuse and confidence low. Singing along to this kind of music only happened when Dean was sure he was alone- so not often-, but this time, he could care less. He kept his attention towards the road, watching the landscape fly by on either side of his vision.

"No words can explain the way I'm missing you-" Dean stopped abruptly, and if his foot wasn't already tapping at the brake he would've slammed it down until his Impala screeched to a stop. No words can explain the way I'm missing you. Dean listened closely to the lyrics now, his heart beating hard in his chest and throat closing up.

_"Told me not to cry when you were gone... but the feeling's overwhelming, it's much too strong..."_ Dean felt choked, he couldn't breathe, and barely had the thought in his mind to pull over to the side of the road.

_"Can I lay by your side? Next to you, you, and make sure you're alright, I'll take care of you... I don't want to be here if I can't be with you."_ The lyrics hit Dean like a truck and reminded him too much of Cas, he blinked slowly and when he opened his eyes again they were damp at the lids. Dean sighed and leaned his head back against the car seat, his breath coming out in quick, broken bursts.

"I'm reaching out to you, can you hear my call? Oh, this hurt that I've been through, I'm missing you, missing you like crazy," the voice sang from the radio, Dean didn't even realize he was singing along until he felt his voice crack and break. Dean swallowed and gasped slightly as his vision went blurry, closing his eyes and letting the lyrics wash over him.

_"Can I lay by your side? Next to you... you?"_

Dean's arm reached forward of its own accord to shut off the radio after the song ended, and the silence that followed gave him some opportunity to process. He remembered the look on Cas' face as he ran out of his room, hell, he remembered the look on his face last night after he kissed him and left him in a heap of blood and broken glass.

Today, he didn't even seem angry about it. He didn't make Dean apologize, he didn't even call him out on it. Cas seemed to understand him, and the thought had Dean choked up even farther. Cas has always been there for him, but he's never been there for Cas- nobody's ever been there for Cas. Sure, there was Sam, but other than that, Cas had no one but him.

When Dean freaked out on him, who could he turn to for guidance?

Dean pulled back on to the road and made a probably illegal U-turn to drive back to the bunker. He was being selfish, and Cas didn't deserve to be treated like he had been. For fuck's sake, who knew lo- this- could be so difficult?

The purring of the Impala's engine was accompanied with complete and utter silence. As Dean drove, the landscape flying past him changed minutely, and he barely even noticed when he got back. The drive helped calm his nerves, but did nothing to soothe his thoughts, so his mind was still buzzing as he drove into the bunker's garage and parked as usual.

How was he going to do this? Where was Cas? How would he talk to him? Would they even talk? Dean mentally shook himself, turned off the Impala, and brushed his thumb along the steering wheel. He took a deep breath through his nose, and closed his eyes as he exhaled, the familiar scent of his car flooding his senses.

This was what he needed, a few minutes of sitting alone in silence and letting go. He didn't think about what he would say, when he would say it, or how.

The only thought in his mind was to get back to his room, and get back to Cas.

But as he sat alone in the quiet, his inactive mind spurred to life, and not even

Dean shoved the door open, taking the keys out of the ignition before slamming it again behind him and striding to the large door that lead into the bunker. He barely registered the sound; he was used to it from years of hearing the same squeal and bang. The adrenaline in his veins made his vision go fuzzy at the edges, his mind unable to doubt the logic of what he was about to do.

Doors were wrenched open, halls were marched down, and Dean barely blinked until he reached his room, finding the door in the same position as he left it. He stopped in his tracks.

Cas was inside.

_Cas._

Dean shuddered and breathed deeply, his eyes slipping shut for a whole two seconds. Any confidence he previously had was diminished, and the reality of what he was about to do hit him all in one moment.

He was going to do this.

As he found the strength in himself to swing open the door and step inside, Dean- maniacally- almost laughed. This was it, there was no going back, no amount of anxiety or hesitation will stop him. It was almost scary, yet the thought's solidity reassured him, and he was in the doorway and peering over at the angel still sprawled in his bed-

"Cas, I think I'm in love with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry ~*


End file.
